At the Back of the World

“He had my billy of water to his mouth and was pouring it down his throat.” Page [195]

AT THE BACK OF
THE WORLD

Wanderings over many Lands and Seas

BY
GEORGE and JENNIE PUGH

LONDON
LYNWOOD & CO., LTD.
12 PATERNOSTER ROW
1913

CONTENTS

At the Back of the World

CHAPTER I
I Go To Sea

As far back as I can remember the sea had a strange fascination for me, and if, as is the custom with old people to ask a boy, however small, what he is going to be when he is a man, I invariably answered “a sailor of course.” At school the lessons I liked best were geography, and the only books that interested me were those that told of travel in foreign lands. Born in Liverpool, that city by the sea, and living, for the first fourteen years of my life, within a mile of the docks, it was no wonder that I was passionately fond of the water, and all my spare time was spent at the docks talking to the sailors, amongst whom I had heaps of friends. The tales they told me of what they had seen in foreign lands, and the wonders of the deep made me long to grow up as quickly as possible, but it was not until I was fourteen that the opportunity came, and that in a curious way.

I had by that time become a great strong lad for my age, and was tired of school, so one day another school companion and I played truant and went down to the docks. After playing about for some time, we thought we would swim across the Mersey and back. I was a capital swimmer, and thought nothing of the feat, but my companion had not been across before. However, we got across splendidly, and after resting a little while we started back, following in the wake of one of the ferry boats. I reached the Pier Head wall first, and turned round to look for my companion—he was nowhere to be seen. I at once told the dock policeman, who took me along to the River Police Office, and after taking my name and address, and sending the men out with the boats to search for my missing friend, he gave me a jolly good thrashing and told me to get back into the water and look for the lad. I looked at him in astonishment, for I was feeling tired, and the thrashing had not refreshed me.

“Go along, now,” he said in stern tones, “and don’t you come back until you find that boy.”

“But I shall be drowned if I do that, I’m tired, sir,” I said.

“A good job, too,” he replied, “and then you’ll find him safe enough.”

For a few minutes I stood looking at him as he sat at his desk writing, and then he turned round as I walked slowly to the door.

“Come here,” he said sternly, looking me up and down until I felt fit to creep into a mouse-hole.

I stood before him expecting another thrashing.

“Have you a father living?”

“No, sir,” I answered.

“A mother?” he asked, his voice a little less stern.

“Yes, sir, and two sisters.”

“Well, you go straight home from here. I have already sent your mother word. I hope she will have sense enough to give you the best thrashing you have ever had in your life, and tell her from me to send you to sea. What you want is work, and plenty of it, and remember this—if ever I catch you round these docks again I’ll lock you up.”

When I reached home I found a warm welcome awaiting me, but not the same one as that given to the “Prodigal Son,” and I was glad enough to escape to my bedroom, feeling that I had got more than I deserved.

The next morning my mother said I need not go to school any more. “You shall go to sea,” she said, “so get your cap and take this note to Captain Watson, he was an old friend of your father’s, and I sincerely hope he will get you on a ship, or there will be nothing but unpleasantness before you for a while, they have not found Harry Law’s body and his people are in a dreadful state and blame you, which is quite natural.”

I made no answer, knowing that it was true, and feeling quite determined in my own mind that if Captain Watson could do nothing for me I would go and ask on every ship in the docks until I was successful.

When I arrived at Captain Watson’s house at Seaforth, there was no mistaking it, standing as it did in a small garden full of flowers, with a tiny grass plat facing the river, a flagstaff from which a Union Jack was fluttering in the breeze, and over the doorway in white lettering “The Mariners’ Rest” was painted.

On my asking for the Captain I was at once taken to him. After reading the letter the old sea-dog gazed at me out of the corner of his eye, then he laid his long pipe on the table.

“And so you want to go to sea, do you, how old are you?”

“I am turned fourteen, Captain, I would rather go to sea than anything else, would you tell me how to get a berth as apprentice?”

“I can tell you something about the life of an apprentice, my boy, and when I’ve done I think you’ll give up that notion. Your mother in her letter says you will have to depend on yourself, and a good job too, and the sooner you are able to do this the better for both of you. Most of the good firms, whose vessels sail out of Liverpool and London require a premium with a boy—generally speaking it amounts to fifty pounds, and this is paid back in wages during the four or five years’ apprenticeship. Half the boy’s time is spent in dancing attendance on the master and mates, doing the meanest work on the ship, that is if any work can be called mean, cleaning brasses, etc., and when his time expires often he is unable to put two ends of a rope together in a seamanlike manner.”

At this my heart sank, but the Captain went on:

“You must go in a small ship as an ordinary seaman where every man and boy has to do his share of the work, and then you will soon learn your business, and make a man of yourself. The premiums that are charged for boys are a fraud imposed on the parents, and a gross injustice for which there is no excuse.”

After a few puffs he resumed—“If anyone speaks to the ship-owner about it, he replies, ‘Oh, he cannot earn his keep the first two years.’ But that’s not true. They pay nothing for that boy, but if he were not on board they would require another boy or man, and the owners would have to pay port wages, so you see the fact of his being on board making up the complement of the crew is a gain to the owner.”

“Another thing—the Board of Trade stipulate that a ship shall carry a certain number of hands, but they do not say they must all be sailors, neither do they specify their ages. Many a good ship has been lost through having too many boys and too few men on board her. On these big ships the seamen get all the real good sailor work to do, such as knotting, splicing, strapping blocks, etc., and the dirty work falls to the lot of the apprentices. The officers often, finding so few seamen and so many duffers on board, vent their spleen on the boys, forgetting that it is the owners’ and not the boys’ fault.” Captain Watson grew warm on his subject, and it was pretty plain that he had suffered as an apprentice in his younger days.

“I know a ship,” he continued, “a four-masted vessel that carries nearly six thousand tons of cargo, a beautiful ship, heavily rigged, which goes to sea with a crew all told of thirty-eight hands. A fairly good number anyone would think! Yes, but notice how they are made up”—here he ran them off his fingers—“Captain, two mates, carpenter, sailmaker, boatswain, steward, cook, sixteen able seamen, and fourteen apprentices. The first, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh sleep in all night in ordinary times and weather, thus leaving one officer, eight able seamen and seven apprentices to work the ship at night. Ah, it’s shameful! But you meet me at noon at the ‘Mercantile Marine Rooms,’ and I will see if I can get you a berth from some of my old shipmates.”

While Captain Watson had been talking, my eyes had been roaming round the room. It was a wonderful room, more like a museum than a living room. Catching sight of my wandering eyes he laughed a big hearty breezy laugh. “Ah, my boy,” he said, “these are some of the things you’ll see in other lands. See that ship,” he said, pointing to a picture of a full rigged ship in a seaway, “that was the first ship I was master of, she was called the ‘North Star’ of Liverpool, a better ship never sailed. These boxes of shells hanging on the wall came home in her from the West Indies, the boxes of red and white coral are from the East Indies, now look here, this is a case of flying fish, and what people call sea horses; the flying fish came aboard, but the sea horses were caught by one of the apprentices by hanging a piece of teased out rope over the side, and the little things get caught in it, they don’t live many minutes when they are taken out of the water as the air kills them. Now this is a queer weapon,” he said, pointing to what looked like a bone sword, “it’s the sword of a fish called by that name, and was taken out of a whale that had been killed by that swordfish and a thrasher, two sworn foes of the whale, and in the tussle the sword had been broken off and left in the whale’s carcass, that was in the tropics. That is a shark’s jaw on that black velvet mount, look at his teeth, no work there for a dentist, he likes to sharpen them on the good fat leg of a cow or pig, or a sailor who tumbles overboard through not looking out where he can hold on in safety to the rigging. These Indian spears, clubs, and bow came from Brazil, and this boomerang from Australia. It is a deadly weapon in the hands of a native, and I have seen one thrown in such a manner that it returned to the hand of the one who threw it. These cedarwood boxes and inlaid trays and little cabinet came from China and Japan, so you see my lad what you can expect when you go to sea and have learnt your business. I always made it a rule to bring some little thing from every foreign port I went to, and as my wages grew so did my curiosities. There is one other thing I want to show you, it is in the garden, it is the figurehead of another old vessel I was in, ‘The Maori Chief,’ a fine figurehead for as fine a ship as ever sailed on salt water.”

“And now my lad,” he said, when I had duly admired everything, both in that wonderful room and in the garden, “give my respects to your good mother, and tell her I will do my best to get you a ship, and after that it rests with yourself.”

I thanked him heartily, and set off home with a light heart, and a mind full of what I had seen and heard. I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing other lands and scenes, lands full of mystery and possibilities. My mother was pleased at my success, and she and my sisters began at once to get my clothes ready, while I told them of all the wonderful things I had seen at Captain Watson’s.

There was little sleep for me that night—my mind was full of the future and what it might hold for me. I got up early, and after a good breakfast went to Water Street. Finding it was two hours off noon, the time it was arranged for me to meet Captain Watson, I went over to Prince’s Dock, and admired the vessels loading there, and wondered if it would be my good fortune to get a berth on one of them, and so passed the time until noon, when I went to the “Marine Society’s Rooms,” and asked for Captain Watson. He was there waiting for me and introduced me to Captain Crosbie of the barque “Bertie,” then loading in the Salthouse Dock and bound for Wellington, New Zealand. He was a smart, well-set man, one of the smartest men I have ever been with, tall, alert, with not an ounce of spare flesh on him, hair as black as night and a pair of eyes like gimlets that seemed to be looking both at you and in you.

“Um, ah,” he said, “you want to go to sea, do you, what for?”

“I want to see foreign lands, sir,” I answered, “and I want to be a sailor.”

“You want to be a sailor, um. You want to look for trouble evidently. How old are you?”

“Turned fourteen, sir.”

“Well you’re big enough anyhow, and you look strong enough. Fond of work, eh?”

“I’ll do my share, sir.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll do that and a bit over, remember a sailor’s life is not all sunshine and blue skies like you read of in books, there are stormy nights and days, and times when you have to hold on by the skin of your teeth. How would you like to be sent up aloft in a gale of wind, eh? I expect you’d wish yourself back on shore, there’s no back door at sea you know.”

“Well, sir, I’d have to do the same as the rest, and do the best I could.”

“Yes, you would, and perhaps your best wouldn’t be thought much of and you’d get a rope’s ending, or a kick or a cuff into the bargain, eh?”

I looked at him. “It seems to me, sir, that everybody thinks that all boys are good for is to be kicked and cuffed, my old grandfather used to say ‘when you meet a lad thrash him, if he doesn’t deserve it then he soon will.’”

They both laughed heartily.

“Was he a sailor?” Captain Crosbie asked.

“No sir, he was a farmer.”

“Well he ought to have been, he understood human nature as regards boys.”

I thought differently but said nothing.

After a few more questions Captain Crosbie engaged me as ordinary seaman at twenty-five shillings per month, and I was to join the ship the next morning. I thanked him heartily and wishing them both good day left the room. What a man I felt as I wended my way home, what castles I built in the air, I was to be a sailor and some day a captain, of that I felt sure, so full of hope is youth, and it is well that it should be so, for has not one of our poets said:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

“And the thoughts of youth are long long thoughts.”

When I reached home my mother was very pleased at my success, and that night we had a long talk.

“My boy,” she said, “you are about to enter life’s battle on your own account, and your future will largely depend on yourself. You have no earthly father to give you wise counsel and advice; I have had to be, as far as I have been able, father and mother to you and the girls. You are starting with a bright prospect, but remember always that God sees you at all times, never do anything you would be ashamed for Him to see. You have chosen, and I have chosen for you, a sailor’s life; take Lord Nelson as your pattern, the greatest sailor, and one of the best Christians who ever lived, and all will be well. Do your work, however hard it may seem, not only for man but for God, then nothing can really harm you. Keep from the drink and bad companions. Never be ashamed of your Bible, your prayers, or your God. Let us kneel together and ask God’s blessing on your new life, for without that it is useless to expect either health or prosperity. I shall look for your letters you may be sure, and will do my best to let you have some in return.” We knelt in prayer, and oft-times in later years the memory of that hour came back to me with renewed help and comfort.

The following morning, after saying good-bye to my mother and sisters, and hearing, just as I was leaving the house, that the body of Harry Law had been found, which rather upset us all, I joined the “Bertie.” She was a strongly built wooden barque of 1,500 tons, and was in splendid condition. She was a perfect picture; all her yards to the royals were crossed, the white lines of her sails harbour-stowed, and each bunt tied up in fine style, all her running rigging was rove, the red ensign languidly shook at the peak, while the blue Peter lay, for want of air to expand it, like a streak of blue paint down the fore-royal mast. I felt my heart swell with pride as I went on board and realised that at last I was on the deck of a ship and that I was one of the crew who were to help to take her across the ocean.

The first mate, Mr. McLean, “Old Barnacle” the sailors called him, came forward and asked me what I wanted and seemed not ill-pleased at my answer. He was a rough, hard-looking Glasgow man; he had commanded several ships in his time, but the terrible curse of drink had pulled him down like a good many before him. He had lost one ship and berth after berth, until he was glad to take a first officer’s place. Once at sea, and out of reach of the liquor, a better seaman could not be found, and beneath that rough exterior a kind and loving heart beat.

The second mate, Mr. Weeler, was a splendid specimen of the British seaman. Trained on the “Worcester,” that noble institution on the Thames, from which so many of our gallant seamen have made their start, he had just obtained his chief-mate’s certificate. He was a good friend to me, and to any boy who came under his charge, an honest, upright, good-living man. Our crew were mostly Scandinavians, and a quiet, hard-working lot of men.

We sailed out from Liverpool that day, the 1st of July, 1870. As soon as Captain Crosbie came on board preparations were made for leaving the dock. It was a beautiful day, the sun shone brightly overhead, the river Mersey lay calm and peaceful, leading out into the great unknown sea beyond, everything was new and strange to me, and never shall I forget the feelings that came over me as we left the docks behind us. As I watched the sailors jumping to obey orders to let this or that rope or sail go, I wondered how long it would take me to learn them all, and how proud I was to answer to the call, “here boy, lend a hand,” and did my best to be a help instead of a hindrance whilst we were getting clear of the channel.

On the first day out I was seasick and felt pretty bad, when the chief officer came along and saw me leaning against the ship’s side.

“Hello,” he said in his gruff way, “looking for New York, boy; had your dinner?”

“No, sir, only I feel queer and don’t want any dinner.”

“What is the dinner forrard to-day?”

“Hash, sir.”

“Now look here, you just go along to the galley and ask cook for a good basinful and bring it here to me.”

I did as I was told and brought it to him, and, to my surprise, he made me eat it. I had no sooner got it down than I had to rush to the ship’s side.

“Go and get another basinful,” he commanded, “and eat every bit, or I’ll give you your first taste of a rope’s end, now go.”

I went, and never shall I forget the feeling of loathing with which I ate that food. I started again for the ship’s side, when he caught hold of me. “No you don’t,” he said, “sit there and keep it down, and you’ll never be seasick again; if you don’t you’ll have to eat another lot.”

Manfully I tried to keep it down and succeeded, but for a few days I felt squeamish, then it passed off, and I soon felt myself again.

CHAPTER II
The Making of a Sailor

Before we had been out at sea a fortnight I was able to climb up the lower rigging, and had learned several things about the ship. I was very happy, I was never tired, and was only too ready to work off my superabundant vitality. I also learned how to wash clothes. My first attempt was a failure, a heavy shower of rain was falling, and one of the sailors coming along the deck with an armful of dirty clothes, called out to me: “Now then, Tommy, now’s the time to wash clothes,” and following his example, I brought my dirty gear on to the deck in the drenching rain, and soaping them well, tried to dolly the dirt out of them by stamping and jumping on them with my feet as they lay near the scuppers. Hanson roared with laughter at my efforts, and then came along and gave me a lesson. I lost count of the days, they passed so quickly, and were so full of interest. Every day I loved the sea more and more, each day showed me some new beauty in it, and on fine days, to see the sun rise and set on the water was a marvellous picture to me, of which I never tired.

As was the custom on board ship, I learned to tell what day it was by what we had for dinner, and what with the sea air, and the happy healthy life I was leading, I was growing taller and stronger every day. There was another boy besides myself on board, named Walter Jones, a quiet, industrious boy. He was in the port watch, and we two spent many an hour together in the dog watch, which is the sailors’ time for recreation, learning to splice ropes, make fancy knots, and other things that were necessary to the making of a good seaman. The chief officer, in his gruff fashion, told us one day that a sailing vessel was like a young lady in her best clothes—to look complete she had to have them all on, and in good order; she must be washed and kept clean, painted to look smart, have a brooch on her bosom, called a figure head, jewel blocks and earrings for decoration, her dress must fit well. Then, for adornments, you will put knots of ribbon on her, single wall knots, single diamond knots, double diamond knots, Mathew-Walkers, Turks’ Heads, and half a dozen others; then you’ve got to know how she’s built, and what the hundred parts of her are called; you’ll have to find out all about the bending and unbending of the sails, rattling down and setting up rigging, the making of small stuff and so on. The second mate took a special interest in us, and was always ready to explain and show us anything that puzzled us. At night when it was our watch, “the starboard watch,” on deck, he would call me aft on the poop, and teach me the names of the principal navigable stars, pointing them out to me and showing me their various positions during the night. He told me of the wonderful order they kept; how for ages they had kept their present position in relation to each other, never varying; just as the Almighty Father placed them so they remained, never tiring, never resting, never wearing out, or altering their distances, the strongest proof of the work of the Omnipotent God. While he talked to me, his young face would light up with a strange radiance.

“Ah, George,” he said to me once, “if you ever doubt God, or His love and care for mankind, raise your eyes to those stars, and think of Him who planned and placed them there, and your doubts will vanish.”

I never heard Mr. Weeler bully or swear at the men; he was firm and just, he never asked a man to do anything he could not do himself, and show others how to do; the men soon found this out, and would jump at his call. To me he was an ideal sailor and a gentleman, and I learnt to respect and love him. One day, just before we got the trade winds, the ship was becalmed, and rolling about in a north-west swell. The sailors were aloft, singing and whistling while doing their various jobs. I was on the poop assisting the sailmaker by picking the old stitches out of the sail he was repairing; he was one of the best men at spinning yarns I ever knew, and listening to him made the time fly and work easy. I had been thinking over what the chief mate had been saying about a ship being like a young lady, and had noticed that we always spoke of a ship as “she.”

“Sails,” I said during an interval of silence, “why is a ship always called ‘she’?”

“Why, because she is rigged out like a woman; she has stays, and crinoline, a waist, carries a bonnet on her square sails, tripping lines to trip them up; she carries thimbles, needles and pins, and above all she requires a man to manage her.”

Sails got no further with his yarn, and I had no time to reply to this explanation. The captain was sitting on the wheel gratings aft, near the helmsman; all of a sudden he jumped up and called out:

“Shark, oh, go for a hook, Sails; go to the steward, boy, and get a lump of raw pork.”

I flew along the deck to the steward, who gave me a piece of salt pork with the rind on, weighing about three pounds. The shark hook had ten feet of chain attached to it, and the hook was about the size of those you see outside the butcher’s shop for hanging quarters of beef to. Attached to the chain were about fifteen fathoms of three-inch manilla rope. When all was ready, the bait and hook were thrown over the stern, and slacked away about thirty feet. I looked round the ship, but not a sign of a shark could I see. The second mate at that moment called two of the sailors down from aloft to help pull up the shark.

Now to my young mind they were counting their chickens before they were hatched, but the captain, second mate and sailors were waiting to haul it up, and I supposed they knew what they were about, so I asked the second mate, whom I was standing near, if he could see the shark?

“No,” he replied, “but I can see his pilots, and I know he is near to us.”

I must have looked bewildered, for he took me to the taffrail, and, looking over the stern at the baited hook, I saw several small and pretty fish, about the size of a herring, with whitish stripes across their backs. “These,” he said, “are called pilot fish, they always accompany a shark as a kind of satellite, and lead him to his prey.” As he was speaking the pilot fish had been smelling round the bait, they now darted away under the ship’s counter.

“Look out, look out,” cried the captain.

And slowly from under the counter came a huge, ugly, brown, shovel-nosed shark, the first I had seen, a horrid brute, with two large greasy-looking eyes. As it approached the bait, it turned over on its side and shewed its white belly and its awful mouth with numerous rows of sharp, saw-like teeth. It did not attempt to take the bait at once, but just took a smell as it passed, swimming a few yards away. Then it turned and made straight for the bait. As it drew near it turned on its back, its mouth being right underneath, and making a dart swallowed the bait, hook and a few feet of chain.

“Haul, haul, haul away!” cried the captain.

And haul away we did with all our might. When we had got him close to the ship’s stern we found him heavier than we expected, so some of the men were called to assist.

“Stop hauling,” ordered the captain, looking over the stern. “If we get him on the poop, he will either burst the deck or the skylight with his tail. Pull him up in the waist.”

So a line was rove through a block on the main topmast backstay and bent on aft; then the order was given to haul away again, and away the sailors ran along the deck with the rope in their hands. It was grand sport for them, and they thoroughly enjoyed it.

When hoisted up to the block we saw the immense size of the creature. The bight of rope was thrown over it, and it was pulled inboard and lowered on deck. Then the rumpus began. It cleared everything within reach. With one blow of its powerful tail it broke the hatch block that was hooked near where it lay, and wriggling near the topsail halliards, it bit through two strands of the rope. Then it lay still for a moment, and the carpenter adroitly pushed a board under its tail, and with one swift stroke of his axe cut it off. The shark was powerless after this, and it was soon killed and cut up. It measured seventeen feet from the tip of the nose to the tip of the tail. The girth just in front of the dorsal fin was seventy-two inches, the jaw when opened to the full extent measured twenty inches by eighteen. Its stomach was found to contain a dead fowl that had been thrown overboard that morning, and an old shoe that it must have got from some other ship. The liver was cut up into small pieces and put into an empty kerosene tin and placed in the foretop for the tropical sun to melt; when melted it is a good cure for rheumatism and stiff joints. The mouth contained eight rows of teeth, four on the top and four below, they were shaped like the teeth of a saw. The jaw bone was taken out and cleaned, and also the back bone, out of which two beautiful walking-sticks were made. For the benefit of my young readers I will explain how these sticks were made. The back bone was first cut into two lengths of thirty inches each. They were then put into pickle in the harness cask for one night, and hung up in the sun to dry. Then they were carefully scraped with a sharp knife, and all particles of flesh taken off. The small holes of the vertebræ were cleaned out with a sail needle and filled with putty mixed with black varnish. Then a thin steel rod was run through the centre hole where the spinal cord was, and screwed up with a nut. The whole was then varnished, and a beautiful stick was the result. The handle was made some time afterwards with the bill of an albatross caught off the Cape of Good Hope.

We got the north-east trade winds the following day, and I began to realize the true beauty of a sailor’s life, sailing along with a cloudless sky and fine clear weather, when every breath is life full and free, and the sea just lumpy enough to remind you that you are out of soundings. Every day we passed some homeward bound ships—in many cases two or three years had elapsed since they had sailed from dear old England. Then there would be signals, that language of the sea, and which I thought was wonderful, good wishes were exchanged for a pleasant voyage, the dipping of the ensigns, and away again. Then I saw the dolphins, porpoises, and flying fish darting hither and thither, and I thought how much more beautiful they looked in reality than in books, everything was wonderful and beautiful. My heart was young and knew no care.

We crossed the equator on the thirty-second day out, and two incidents happened on that day that I shall never forget. Just after breakfast the chief mate called me aft, and then sent me to fetch Walter Jones. Wondering what he wanted us for we went to him on the poop where he was standing with his long spying glass, looking over the ocean.

“Now boys,” he said, “we shall cross the equator to-day, and if you have good eyesight and a clear day, you should be able to see the line, now then, Walter, you look first.”

Walter looked long and earnestly through the glass.

“Can you see anything, here let me see,” and he took the glass in his hands again. After fixing it again he gave it back to Walter who had another good look.

“Why, yes, sir,” he said, “I believe I can see a line, it is very faint, but I think it is there.”

“Now, George,” said Mr. McLean, “you look, look well, and let me see if your eyesight is as good as it looks.”

I took the glass and raised it to my eyes, and there sure enough was a line right across. What a wonderful thing that it could be seen.

We thanked Mr. McLean and went back to our work, and it was many a long day before we found out that it was a joke that had been played upon us, and that the line we saw was a hair placed across the glass.

The other incident was a visit from Father Neptune—one of the few romances left to the sailor in sailing ships, and in this visit Walter Jones, two of the sailors and I, had the pleasure and privilege—which is doubtful—of taking part. In preparation for the event a topmast stun-sail was rigged on the after skids and filled with salt water, about three feet above this a stage was also rigged, and this completed, all the visible preparations for the visit of his majesty.

We crossed the line on the thirty-second day out at noon, and precisely at that hour Father Neptune and his wife (the steward and sailmaker) accompanied by his retinue, which consisted of a doctor, barber, and policeman, came over the bow. Then, after a few preliminaries, the second mate read to the sea king a list of the introductions to be made. The captain and chief mate meanwhile standing on the poop watching and enjoying the proceedings.

I, as the youngest member of the crew, was the first to be introduced, and after the list was gone through, to my surprise I was captured by the policeman, roughly examined by the doctor, and hoisted on the stage. The policeman again seized hold of me, the barber having in his hand a can of lather made up of slush and filth from the galley, with which he started to lather my face, head, and neck.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“George Farrar,” I began, but the filthy brush was into my mouth. “Ugh,” I spluttered.

“What port do you come from?” was again asked me.

“Liverpool,” I said quickly. Again the brush was into my mouth, but I was too sharp for them and closed my teeth with a snap. “Ugh, ugh,” I spluttered again, but it was no use, my face was then scraped with a bent hoop-iron razor, after which I was pitched into the stun-sail bath, well soused, and then allowed to emerge a Son of Neptune—a genuine deep-water sailor.

The list included Walter Jones, and two of the crew, named Hans and Peterson, much to their disgust but to my delight, for I had begun to think that I was the only one to be treated in that fashion, so now, having been shaved first, I had the pleasure of watching the others, who enjoyed it about as much as I had done. When the list was completed we had a “rough house” in the stun-sail bath, but somebody cast a hitch adrift, and we came down on the main deck “lumpus.”

Following the shaving, three cheers were called for by the second mate for the captain, Father Neptune, his wife, and retinue, the ship and her crew. The disguises were taken off, and we enjoyed the rest of the day as a holiday.

A few days after our visit from Father Neptune, we got into the Doldrums, and after being driven hither and thither by the light winds which blew from all quarters, then having got through, we had strong, squally weather throughout the south-east trades. Here it was a constant round of furling and unfurling of the light sails, and Jones and I got quite proficient at it, and I felt a bit proud of myself, but true to the letter is the wise old saying that “pride comes before a fall,” for so it happened to me.

When the command was given one day to furl the main-topsail, I followed in the rear of the other sailors, for I felt fit for anything, so up I went until I reached the under side of the maintop. Now the others had swung themselves up in the proper way by the futtock shrouds without a moment’s hesitation, for they were old hands, but when I looked at the overhanging top, and realized that I must climb around it with my head slanting away from my feet, my heart failed, and I clung motionless to the shrouds.

“What are you about, you young fool, swarm up, swarm up will you.”

It was the voice of the first mate, hoarse with anger and it made me wince as from a blow.

“All right, sir,” I said, and made a desperate effort to go still higher. But, unfortunately, my right foot lost its hold upon the rope-ladder, and, in trying to swing it back my left foot also let go, and there I hung by my hands alone, unable to recover my footing, and certain that I should be dashed to death on the deck if my grasp failed, but luckily for me the first mate saw my danger.

“Look out for that youngster by the maintop there,” he shouted, for I was swaying with the pitching of the ship. “Look slippy, or he’ll drop.”

Hans, who was nearest to me sprang to the maintop, and sliding down through the lubber’s hole he reached out and caught me, drew me back into the shroud, so that I was once more able to get my feet upon the ropes.

“Here, give us hold of your hand,” he said, “and get up through the lubber’s hole, if you don’t know any better than that, it’s time you did.”

I was too glad at being safe to mind the contempt with which Hans had spoken to me, so I crawled up through the hole of the main-top provided for such emergencies. Hans went back to his place on the yard. As I watched the big square sail being clewed up according to Mr. McLean’s orders, I wondered how long it would take me to become so expert. When this was done and we returned to the deck, I followed, and would gladly have slipped out of sight, for I was vexed with myself at the sorry figure I had made in my first attempt to go up aloft, but no sooner was I on the deck than Mr. McLean called me to him.

“So that’s the way you go up aloft, eh,” he said, “you ought to have brought your nurse with you to sea. You stood a good chance of breaking your neck, what sort of a sailor are you going to make, if you go on like that.”

My blood boiled, although I was still feeling the effects of my fright, but I said nothing, and then he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “my lad, you’ve a lot to learn yet, and the sooner you set about it the better.”

A sudden resolution came into my mind, and, without waiting to think, I went to the main shrouds, and, climbing to the futtock-shrouds, set myself to the task of reaching the main-top in true sailor fashion. My muscles quivered and my breath came in short quick gasps as I leaned once more over that great space below me, but setting my teeth, and breathing a prayer to God to help me, I made another effort, and found to my relief that I had succeeded, and at last I was on the maintop. A glad sense of triumph filled my heart, and following the shrouds with my eyes to where they ended at the main-top-mast head, I determined to reach that too before I went down again.

“I’ll try, anyhow, it’s not as bad as what I have just done.”

So, climbing cautiously, I reached the head without any very great difficulty, and after holding on for a few minutes to rest, I came back to the main-top. When it came to leaving it for the deck I hesitated, but no, I said to myself, and sure enough I did and managed all right, without having to go through the lubber hole.

I thought no one had noticed me going up, and hoped they had not, but, to my surprise, the chief mate called me to him.

“I see you’ve got the right grit in you my lad,” he said kindly, “that’s the only way to learn the ropes, you’ll soon get the run of the rigging.”

CHAPTER III
A Burning Ship

On the 20th August we sighted the island of Tristan d’Acunha: when about seven miles off, our yards were backed to see if any of the natives would put off to us to barter. This, of course, was all new to Jones and me, and we were talking to each other about it, and wondering what new experience we should have, when Mr. Weeler, the second mate, came along, and I asked him if he would tell me a bit about the island.

“Yes, boys,” he said in his usual kind way of speaking to us, “I will willingly tell you what I know:

“Tristan d’Acunha is the largest of a group of three islands in the South Atlantic Ocean. It is about 1,500 miles from the nearest land, and has a circuit of 15 miles. It is both mountainous and volcanic, and one peak attains the great height or elevation of 8,000 feet above the level of the sea. Its position, which, of course, you do not yet understand, is in latitude 37° south, 15°w. 40′ west, and is believed to have been uninhabited until 1811, when three Americans took up their residence upon it for the purpose of cultivating vegetables and selling the produce, particularly potatoes, to vessels which might touch there on their way to India, the Cape, or other parts of the southern ocean. These Americans remained its only inhabitants until 1816, when, on Napoleon Bonaparte being sent to St. Helena, the British Government deemed it expedient to garrison the island, and sent the Falmouth man-of-war with a colony of forty persons to the island; they arrived in the month of August and found that the chief of the American settlers had died, and only two were left—what became of these two is very uncertain. But the British garrison was soon given up, the colony abandoned, and all returned to the Cape of Good Hope, except a Scotchman, named Glass, who had been a corporal of artillery, and his wife, who was a Cape Creole. As time went on other families joined them, and thus a nation on a small scale was formed, Mr. Glass, the founder, being the chief law-giver for all. The little colony increased as the years passed away, a considerable number of children having been born since the settlement. The different families built cottages and thatched them with the long grass of the island, and they had every appearance of English cleanliness and comfort. The north side of the island was well-cultivated by them, they are a quiet, industrious, social lot of people. The last time I came this route there were 107 people living on the island, 61 men and 46 women, they possessed 114 head of cattle, 37 sheep, 70 pigs, and about 300 fowls. They also have a Commonwealth Government, with a vigilance committee to keep order. The produce of the island, you will see for yourselves, as four whale boats are being put off from it now.”

As Mr. Weeler finished speaking we thanked him, and turned out attention to the boats now rapidly approaching us, and it was not very long before they came alongside the ship and we saw that they were loaded with potatoes, cabbages, lettuce, water-cress, eggs, fowls, young pigs, birdskins, and a few large albatross eggs, weighing about two pounds each. For this stock they wanted in exchange tea, sugar, peas, molasses, and rice, and, of course, wanted twice the value of their own stock, needless to say they did not get this. They also gave us another interesting item of news, which, to Jones and me, who had been listening to Mr. Weeler’s graphic description of the island and its history, made it doubly interesting, a clergyman had arrived on the island a few weeks before to take up his residence amongst them, and during his first week on the island had the pleasure of uniting thirty-three couples in marriage. They seemed very pleased to impart this news, and after a great deal of hand-shaking and many “hurrahs,” they got into their boats again, well pleased with their bargains, and pulled for the shore. Our yards were trimmed to the wind, and with a brisk breeze we continued our voyage.

A few days after leaving these islands the weather became very rough and boisterous, with mountainous seas running after the ship and threatening to swamp her every moment. But she rose nobly to her duty and remained staunch and tight. Our sails were reduced to lower top-gallant-sail and the dear old ship was staggering under the pressure of her canvas. I was in my element, as happy as a bird, and in the best of health. How I loved the sea in all its moods, whether wild and restless or calm and still, and the life on board with its ups and downs seemed to entwine itself more and more around my heart every day. The more I saw of the work of the ship the more I loved it, and put my heart into all I did, and I was making good progress, and was a fair helmsman in moderate weather, fairly proficient in making all sorts of knots, splices, etc. Both officers and sailors were doing their best for me, and were quite as willing to teach me as I was to learn, and I felt that there was nothing to complain of and much to be thankful for.

On the fourth of September we sighted the desolate islands of St. Paul and Amsterdam, passing close to them to see if there were any shipwrecked seamen on them, so many vessels and their crews were lost on that track, that the English Government have built a hut and erected a flagstaff on the island. A man-of-war visits the island and leaves provisions at intervals, with written instructions that anyone who has the misfortune to be shipwrecked, may use the provisions but not waste them, and they are requested to hoist the flag on the flagstaff, as all vessels going that route are expected to be on the look-out for the flag and take off anyone who may be stranded there. These islands are volcanic and have nothing on them to support life. As the flag was not hoisted when we passed, we concluded that there was no one there.

From thence we had a succession of westerly gales right up to Snares Rocks off the South Island of New Zealand. The crew were merely standing by to attend sails if required, the wind and sea being too rough to do any work about the decks, and many an hour did I spend under the forecastle head listening to their yarns of other lands and of other ships they had been in, of hairbreadth escapes and shipwrecks. How eagerly I listened and how it stirred my heart, until I almost fancied I had been through such adventures myself.

On the night watches the second mate kept me aft on the poop to pass the word along if the men were required. One night when about a hundred miles off the South Island of New Zealand, the gale suddenly died away, and it fell dead calm, with a high sea, such as I had not seen, running. The ship wallowed and rolled unmercifully until every bone in our bodies ached with tumbling about. The officers were afraid of the masts coming down with a crash. All night the water fell on her decks in huge green seas, sometimes it seemed as if she had settled down, then she rolled and rose gradually, the water washing from side to side like cataracts, until about a foot remained on her decks, then another sea would sweep aboard, and under its sudden weight the ship would quiver and stagger like a frightened steed. Sometimes she literally seemed to buckle fore and aft, at others she laboured like a frightened animal, the tumult of seas literally leaping aboard the ship, until she seemed a mere plaything of the elements. And so the night passed and the day slowly followed, now and then the sea would rise above the rail so high that it looked as though nothing could save us from being engulfed, but by a merciful Providence the vessel lived through it. Then, towards evening, the gale moderated a bit, the night came on with a densely eerie darkness—pitch-dark the sailors called it—with the sea still like a boiling pot, still tumbling on board and filling the decks.

About midnight we heard a loud report to the south, and immediately out of the blackness great flames shot up, and we saw huge columns of smoke with flames darting here and there. As the fire increased we could see the outline of a large sailing ship. It was on fire and we were powerless to render her any assistance. There was not a breath of wind, the night was pitch dark, and no boat could have lived five minutes in the sea that was running. We could only look on and pray to God to help them. All hands were kept on deck ready to work the sails should a breeze spring up or the sea go down sufficiently to allow of the launching of a boat.

It was a terrible night, one never to be forgotten. “Oh, for a breeze!” was the cry of all on board our ship, but no breeze came and for four hours we had to watch a terrible struggle with death, and feel we were helpless. We could see the flames like angry demons leaping from shroud to shroud, and from yard to yard, then only great dense volumes of smoke lit up by the flames behind. Then again the awful flames would belch forth and light up the whole heavens above them. We were too far off to distinguish any human beings. God alone knew their sufferings and heard their prayers, He alone saw that fight with death, and while we looked, our hearts wrung with a sense of our helplessness, without a moment’s warning, the ill-fated vessel disappeared, and the night was black as before.

Our captain ordered several lights to be hung about the rigging, in case there were any boats, rafts, etc., afloat, but none were seen, and when towards daylight, a breeze springing up, our ship cruised about to pick up anyone who might have escaped by any means, not a vestige of the ship or boats could be seen to tell what ship she was, and what port she was bound for, nothing but a quantity of loose wreckage, so we continued our journey with sad hearts thinking of the unfortunate ship and her ill-fated crew.

Towards noon the following day the sea fell dead calm, and became as smooth as a millpond. A light breeze sprang up from the north-east, and presently we ran into a large shoal of bottle-nosed whales and grampus. The sea became thick with them, all leisurely lolling and tumbling about on the surface, and many apparently standing upright like great posts, or milestones in the sea. There must have been hundreds of them. The sailors, on seeing them, said we were in for a dressing down, the presence of the grampus on the surface being a sure sign of dirty weather, and their instinct or superstition, whichever it is called, was correct again, and presently I noticed that Mr. McLean, our chief mate was looking with earnest eyes at the horizon astern. I looked too and saw a large black cloud sailing up the sky exactly on a line with the course we were making. I have never before or since seen a body of vapour wear such an ugly look. Its hinder parts wore the true aspect of thunder; its brow of pale sulphur, darkened into a swollen livid curve, its dreadful shape made one think of some leviathan, a flying beast, a mighty dragon, such as one reads about, or some huge horrible creature descending from another world, casting its strange shadow over its prey ere it descended to its work of destruction.

Little by little the cloud overtook us and then it overhung the vessel like an immense black canopy plunging us and the sea around into gloom and then passed on, but before midnight we were in the midst of a fierce north-east gale or hurricane. Fortunately for us we were partly sheltered by Stewart’s Island and did not get the high sea that we should have got had we been further to the westward.

On it came with awful speed and fury. At first there was a stifling heat in the atmosphere, then the clouds spread over the sky, shutting out the stars, mysterious changes seemed to be taking place in nature around, noiselessly for a time, then the war of the elements began with a burst of heaven’s own artillery. At first it was distant, muttering, prolonged and fitful, like the rattling musketry of advancing skirmishers, soon a roar of deafening thunder rent the sky, another and another followed with blinding flashes of lightning between, corposant lights were seen on the yard arms, and the tips of the masts, then the rain came down in torrents. For twenty-four hours the hurricane lasted and the ship kept dodging under the lee of the south end of Stewart’s Island, then gradually the storm abated and the wind veered into the north-west, the ship was put on her course for Wellington, where we arrived safely in a few days.

CHAPTER IV
New Friends

I shall never forget the sensation that passed over me when the “Bertie” dropped her anchor, and made fast to the railway wharf on arrival at Wellington. It was my first foreign port, and we expected to be there for four weeks before sailing for home. The sun was setting as we dropped our anchor in what looked to me like a picture I had seen of the Lake of Galilee, with the hills surrounding it, and this was Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, the land of the Maori Chiefs. There amongst those hills they had lived and fought and died. I wondered if I should see any of them, or if there would be any time to see something of the surroundings. I could scarcely take my eyes off the hills, with their lights and shades of purple and gold, bronze and scarlet, as the sun passed over the various strata of which the hills are composed. Before turning in, Jones and I had planned to go on shore together and see, as far as lay in our power, all that there was to be seen.

The day after we arrived two ladies and a gentleman came on board and asked if there were any boys or apprentices on the ship. The first mate called Jones and I to where they were standing and introduced us to them, and the ladies immediately gave us both an invitation to tea that evening, at the same time telling Mr. McLean they would look after us each evening during our stay to save us from getting into bad company, of which there was too much round the seaport. You may be sure Jones and I thanked them heartily, and almost counted the hours that must elapse before we could go over the shipside, after having been at sea three months.

When they had left the ship I asked Mr. McLean who they were, and why they troubled about two youngsters like Jones and I whom they knew nothing about?

“My lad,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, “there are plenty of kind hearts in the world, and here in Wellington several ladies and gentlemen from the different churches have banded themselves together for the sole purpose of looking after all the sailor boys and apprentices that come into this port. Many a boy has been saved from destruction by their kindness and care, for in a place like this temptations abound, and before you know where you are you are led astray.”

At five p.m., when the day’s work was done, we tidied ourselves up and donned our best clothes, and at five-thirty two gentlemen came on board for us, and we were soon walking along the wharf, our escort pointing out all the places of interest as we left the shipping behind us and came into Queen Street, and then turned into a large house, at the door of which stood the ladies who had given as the invitation. They gave us a hearty welcome, and hoped we should feel at home with them. To our surprise and pleasure we found there were eight boys, besides us, belonging to other ships lying in the harbour. You may be sure any shyness we felt soon wore away under the influence and the kindness of our hostess, the good tea, and the exchange of views regarding our ships amongst us boys, each, of course, thinking his own ship the best. After our hostess had returned thanks to God for the meal we had just finished, we went into another room. We then had some music and sang a few hymns. Some of us played draughts, some dominoes, and other parlour games, until seven-thirty, when one of the gentlemen asked us if we would like to join the Order of Good Templars. He explained to us what it meant and pointed out to us that by belonging to this Order we could visit any lodge, if there was one in a port that we called at, we should be made very welcome, and at once find ourselves amongst friends. We both agreed, and the other boys, who had already become members were very pleased, telling us that we should like the lodge they were sure. At eight o’clock we all went to the Temperance Hall a few doors further up the street, there we were made members of the Order. The members vied with each other in making us feel welcome and at home, and I felt that if this was a sample of the evenings spent in the “Good Templars’ Lodges,” that would be where mine would be spent in any port where there was a lodge held. At the close of the evening several of the members walked down to the ship with us, and so ended one of the happiest evenings of my life.

It was with light happy hearts that Jones and I did our work the next day. Both the chief and second mate asked us how we had spent the evening, and seemed very glad that we had met with such friends. My work seemed nothing, so much did I long for evening to come.

At five-thirty our two friends came for us, and also some of the other boys and we set off to see the places of interest. That night we saw the Government Official Buildings, Lambton Quay, the General Post Office, Custom House Quay, and the Public Hospital, New Town. These buildings were all very imposing. We were also told about the two earthquakes that had wrought such havoc in the years 1848 and 1855, and how that it was a long time before the effects had faded from the minds of the people, but once having got over it, the buildings had gone on quickly, and where, a few years ago, small farms stood, handsome villas and private residences had sprung up.

Another time we went to see the Parliament Buildings. We also had some side trips, to Lower Hut, and had tea at the Belle Vue Gardens, then to Wainmomata on the Saturday, going by rail to Lower Hut, and I had my first ride in a buggy to finish our journey. Again some of the Lodge members made a party up, and we went by steamer to Seatown and Haraka Bay, each day brought its work and its pleasure, and each Sunday afternoon Mrs. Hamilton, our kind friend and hostess, gave us writing materials and made us write to our friends at home, she paid the postage, and herself posted the letters for us.

I had also seen several Maoris, one was a great, chief named Te Araroa, he had his face tattoed all over, this was considered an ornament, but I thought differently. Our last outing before leaving the port was to the Lighthouse on Somes Island. Before leaving for the ship that night Mrs. Hamilton gathered us all together and, after singing a few hymns, she asked us to kneel with her in prayer. Never shall I forget that prayer, and how she pleaded for us to be kept safe from sin and shipwreck. May God, whom she loved, bless and reward her for the great kindness she showed me and hundreds of boys who came to the Port of Wellington.

We finished loading at last, and had to say good-bye to our kind-hearted friends. Many of them came to see us off. Captain Crosbie seemed very pleased, and when they had gone he turned to me saying with a smile:

“You seem to have had a good time, boys.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, “a time I shall never forget, or Jones either.”

“That’s right, enjoy life while your hearts are young, it will help you to do your work better, and give you pleasant things to think of when you are old. Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, drink it in with all your eyes; it is a charmed draught, a cup of blessing. It is God’s handwriting.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, and went to my work with a light heart. We left the wharf in the early morning with a full cargo of wool, tallow, hides, rabbit skins, etc., for London.

CHAPTER V
Stormy Weather

We had fine clear weather when leaving Wellington, the sea was smooth so that the “Bertie” made fair speed through the water with every stitch of canvas set. When passing Chatham Islands we saw in the distance an unusual disturbance on the surface of the water, which, on our getting nearer, we found to be caused by a school of bottle-nosed whales. Hundreds of them were playing about, turning over and over on the surface of the water. The sailors said we should have a gale before the day was out, and sure enough we had. At sunset heavy woolly-looking clouds began to rise in the south and the wind had a moaning, sad sound.

In search of information as usual, I went to the second mate, and asked him how they could tell that a gale was near while the weather was so beautifully fine.

“Ah, my boy,” he replied, “there are many signs that warn a watchful seaman of the coming storm, first, the falling barometer, then the appearance of the sky, then the swell, and the height the seabirds fly. The sea, too, has a peculiar smell like stale kelp. Nature has many ways of warning mariners to prepare for rough weather. The Almighty never sends a storm without first warning his children of its coming—look at that,” he continued, pointing to the sunset, it was a showering of gold under the raven black wing of a cloud, and the rolling sea was black and golden underneath that rain of splendour. “That is another warning given to us by the great Master Artist, much of the beauty and wonder of the sea lies in the lights and shadows which the mighty mirror borrows from the heavens above, many and marvellous, some awe-striking as the miracles of old, are drawn by the pencil of the Great Hand.”

I looked up into his face, and dimly read the earnest thoughts there, I felt more and more convinced that if there was on board the “Bertie” a good man and a gentleman it was Mr. Weeler, and besides this he was an ideal sailor and knew his work.

The storm was gathering force, the dancing white-capped waves had given place to huge seas, the wind began to howl menacingly about her as she bent over to the bidding of the swift succeeding blasts. The heavy seas were at times breaking over the rail amidships and flooding the decks, the crew were merely standing by and reducing sail as the gale increased. Day after day the gale lasted; the ship was under topsail and foresail, labouring heavily and ploughing her way through the black waves, while the snowy foam flew high over her stout bulwarks.

“Looks as though we are in for a hard time getting round, Mr. McLean,” said Captain Crosbie to the chief mate, as he eyed the barometer somewhat apprehensively, “the glass is still going down and the air is thickening fast.”

“It looks like it, sir,” responded the chief mate grimly, “but the ‘Bertie’ is a good staunch ship, and she’ll weather it all right.”

There certainly was something weird and depressing about the environment of the ship. The sky was hanging dark and lowering above her, with never a ray of sunshine to pierce the gloom, mysterious shapes darted hither and thither through the sullen waters at her bow, while the mollymawks screeched through the rigging and in her wake in scores.

Through those days of storm and stress, while the “Bertie” fought bravely with the wind and the waves, I learned a lesson that was stamped indelibly on my mind. Uncomfortable as it was on deck, I could not bear to be cooped up below, and though there was no work for me to do, yet I kept in the open air, loath to miss anything of that gallant contest.

So fiercely did the seas break over our bows that the men could not stay forrard, but were driven back to the waist of the ship, where they stood against the bulwarks, each one, however, having taken the precaution to secure himself with a bowline at his waist to prevent him from being swept into the scuppers by the heavy seas that leaped aboard from time to time.

Captain Crosbie had called me to the quarter deck and given me a post at the foot of the mizzen-mast, where I was safe from the seas, but partly exposed to the wind and spray, which I did not mind.

“Are you getting enough of the sea, my lad,” he said, standing beside me, “you did not reckon on having such a time at this, I expect?”

“Well hardly, sir,” I replied, “I thought the hurricane we had before we reached Wellington bad enough, and had no idea a storm could be so dreadful or keep up so long; but don’t think, sir, I’m wishing myself ashore for all that, I’ve just got to learn to get used to all weathers, that’s all about it.”

“That’s the only way to look at it, my boy,” Captain Crosbie replied, and his voice sounded as if he was pleased, “sailors need stout hearts, and those that haven’t them should stay on land, there are no back doors at sea, but there are no slates and chimney-pots to fall around our ears. The “Bertie” and I have weathered worse storms than this.”

Time and again it seemed to me that this must surely be the worst storm that ever raged, and that, good ship as the “Bertie” was, she must give in to the terrible buffeting. In spite of our running under almost bare poles the ship would again and yet again be pressed down and down through the force of the blast, until her going over on her beam ends seemed only a matter of another few seconds. Then, if the wind eased for a moment, she would right herself, only to be met by a yeasty surge leaping madly aboard, ready to sweep the deck clear of everything that was not lashed beyond the possibility of moving.

It was well that the men had secured themselves to the rail by the bow-lines, or the waves would surely have washed them off the ship to a watery grave. The cook had a terrible time, for the men had to have meals, even if the storm still raged, and he was at his wits end how to prepare them, and more than once his big pot of soup that we were all looking anxiously for, was sent flying into the lee scuppers by a wave bursting into the galley, and the getting of the captain’s dinner into the cabin was a gymnastic display, at the conclusion of which we all breathed freely. But on the last day of the gale, even Tommy’s acrobatic feats were not sufficient to avert the catastrophe, for it happened that a leg of fresh pork had been boiled for the cabin dinner, and, as everyone knows, there is nothing more wobbly to carry in calm weather than that joint. Tommy had managed two or three journeys from the galley to the cabin under difficulties. With an anxious look on his face he came out of the galley with the leg of pork smoking on the dish, the cook coming to the door to see its safe transit, when, as if in protest against such a comfortable meal being enjoyed by our much harrassed captain, a huge sea broke over the ship, down went Tommy and the dish, and the tasty leg of pork went slithering along the deck and through the main deck port, and was lost to view before one of us could make an attempt to stop it, leaving Tommy still clinging to the dish.

The weather moderated as we drew near the dreaded Cape Horn, and we soon repaired the damage done by the gale we had just passed through. We had a splendid crew, mostly, as I said at the beginning, Scandinavians, steady and willing men. The ship was rolling and surging along at about 9½ knots, the weather was clearer, but getting much colder. When within about two hundred miles of Cape Horn, running before a strong south-west wind, with a light haze, it was about 3 p.m., when one of the seamen, Johan Hansen went aft to the second mate, who had charge of the deck.

“Sir,” he said, “I think we are close to ice, and I think this haze is thicker than it seems to be.”

Mr. Weeler was alert instantly.

“Can you see anything, Hansen?”

“No, sir, but I was several years in the Iceland trade, and though I cannot tell why or how, I feel that we are near field ice.”

“All right, go on the lookout and tell me if you can see any.”

Then calling me to him, Mr. Weeler told me to ask the captain to come on deck. I did so, and he was up in a few minutes. He was engaged talking to the officer, when a tremendous yell came from Hansen on the lookout.

“Hard a-port,” he cried, “hard a-port! Ice ahead!”

In a moment every man aboard was on deck, the helm put down, the top-gallant halliards let go, starboard braces slacked away, the yards flew forward, and, as the ship came up with the wind, she heeled over and a heavy sea struck her amidships, shaking her from stem to stern, and filling the decks with water. Then came a crash aloft, and we found the fore and main top-gallant masts had been carried away and fallen alongside. A dozen hands were soon cutting away the wreckage, and looking to leeward, we were horrified to see the terrible fate we had just escaped. There, within a mile of us, floated a gigantic iceberg about 700 feet long and 300 feet high, shaped like a church, with a square tower at one end. Presently the haze lifting, the setting sun cast its rays on the iceberg filling it with flaming jewels of light, kindling all kinds of rich and glowing colours, the effect was beautiful, and truly magnificent. It seemed to stand on a mountain of pure crystal, bathed in silver radiance. We were not allowed much time to admire it, however, for there was work to be done, the wreckage to clear away, and the gear to secure for the night. We then wore ship, and stood towards the Horn again.

We had a marvellous escape for our ship had been pointed directly for the berg, in another few minutes our bows would have been into it, and the ship would have ground herself to splinters. Until daybreak came we went on our way very stealthily, and then we saw vast fields of ice to the south of us, stretching for miles away to the eastward.

When passing Cape Horn there was an awful sea running, the shadows of black clouds whirling overhead and darkening the air with heavy snowfalls, which blew along in thick masses like the contents of a feather bed. The tops of the dark green waves were on a level with our upper topsail yards, and their white roaring heads seemed to brush the flying scud of the heavens as they came rushing madly upon us. In no place in the world have I seen such mountainous waves as are met with off Cape Horn, the rigging was glazed with ice, the decks full of water, to let go of a rope, or obey an order, was to do so at the risk of life and limb. At one minute the vessel was on a level keel in the trough, in a valley, with moving walls of water on either side of her, then for a brief moment there would be a lull, and you heard nothing but the howl of it on high, and the savage hissing of the foam. Then she would sweep up the huge liquid incline, up and still up with a sickening rush, until the deck looked like the roof of a house, then with the shrieking anew as she soared into the full weight of the gale, another moment’s breathless pause, as she hung poised on the peak of the sea that had hoisted her up, when once more she would slip down again, reeling as she went, shuddering like a frightened thing, into the heart of the valley of water, with its terrifying interval of calm below, and uproar of storm above. But the “Bertie” was a splendid sea-going boat, buoyant as a bird, rising and falling like a thing on wings and full of life, and as I stood by the mizzen rigging watching those giant waves I thought of Christ on the sea of Galilee, and His words to the angry billows, “Peace, be still.”

From Cape Horn we had a run to Falkland Islands, thankful to have escaped after our dressing down, but passing to westward we ran into another snowstorm, and in a remarkably short time the ship was covered with a thick white mantle.

CHAPTER VI
The Southern Cross

It was still snowing as we were nearing the Falkland Islands. I was on the quarter-deck with Jones and some of the sailors. We had just finished taking in some of the sails, when Peterson called out to us: “I say, boys, just look astern at the fireworks, there’s a sight.” It was a truly magnificent sight, there above the horizon was a splendid display of southern lights. Imagine about twenty rainbows all clustered together, the centre one being straight and those on either side curved outward like an open fan, their prismatic hues lighting up every spar, rigging and sail with a wonderful glow of colour, the pure white snow with which the ship was coated reflecting the colours from a thousand points. It was indeed a wonderful and a splendid sight, one that I shall never forget, and it is one I have never seen since.

After passing the Falkland Islands the weather moderated, and we had a spell of fine bright days, then began the usual overhauling of the rigging, sails, etc. This is the work that all true sailors like; Jones and I were delighted at the prospect of getting plenty of it. The officers and men were always ready to teach us boys anything we wanted to learn, and I must say we tried to do our best to repay them by always shewing ourselves ready and willing to oblige them. Nothing troubled us, we scarcely knew what it was to be tired, and as for a kick or a blow, or any unkindness from any of the men, we never experienced any such thing during the whole of the voyage.

One night in the first watch, the night being calm, with a cloudless sky, the second mate called me aft, and, pointing to the beautiful constellation of the southern cross, said:

“By the look of the cross, it must be close to four bells.” (10 p.m.). “Go and look if I am right,” he added.

I went into the cabin, and looking at the clock found it to be five minutes past ten. I struck the bell, and wondering how Mr. Weeler could possibly tell the time by looking at the stars; I went back to him and asked if he would tell me how this was done.

“Certainly I will,” he said, “I am glad you have asked me this, there is no part in a seaman’s training so fascinating and so wonderful as the study of the stars, the more you learn about them, the more you will want to learn, that is, of course, if you want to get on in your profession, and from what I have seen of you I don’t think you’ll be contented with the forecastle all your life.”

“No, indeed, sir,” I replied, “I hope to work up to be an officer like you, sir, if you don’t mind my saying it.”

Mr. Weeler smiled.

“Here,” he said, “in latitude 28° south, the cross rises in the east and sets in the west At midnight, or six hours after rising, it bears due south, and this is the only time the cross seems to stand upright, so you see, when I called you, I had noticed the cross was about two-thirds distance between a horizontal and a perpendicular position, which would happen about 10 p.m.”

I thanked him, and from that day he regularly gave me lessons about the stars, and I grew more and more interested in them and in other heavenly bodies, as I learned more about their wonderful system as time went on.

All that night and the next day we lay becalmed, and the next night was as black as pitch with a light easterly wind. Towards midnight the sea became one perfect sheet of phosphorus—a silver sea, overhead the sky was quite black, but the light thrown off from the surface was sufficient to read a book by. We seemed to be a phantom ship sailing on a silver sea. After gazing for some time at the wondrous sight, I went aft to the poop, where I saw Mr. Weeler, bent on satisfying my curiosity as to the why and the wherefore of all I saw. He saw me as I got to the poop ladder, and calling me aft, asked how I liked the silver sea.

“I was wondering what caused it, sir,” I answered.

“It is caused by myriads of tiny fish like shrimps and jellyfish,” he replied, “and it is only on a night like this that we can see them.”

I stood and looked at it for some time, it was so beautiful, and through my mind passed the words from the “Good Old Book:” “They that go down to the sea in ships, these see the wonders of the Lord.” I felt how true it was, for every day shewed me some new wonder.

After crossing the doldrums, we had fairly good weather right up to the Island of Antonio—Cape Verde Islands. Here we got the north-east trade winds.

And then the work began in earnest—lockers, rooms, forecastle, cabins were all turned out in turn, cleaned, painted and polished up like a new pin, and woe be to the man who upset his paint, or made a mess after the place was once cleaned. Yards, masts and bulwarks each in their turn received attention, and then the decks were scraped with sharp steel scrapers, and afterwards holy-stoned fore and aft, until you could eat your food off them, they were so spick and span.

We passed a number of outward bound ships, among them the “Ivanhoe,” “Roderick Dhu,” “Portia,” “Commonwealth,” etc. We signalled them, and they all wished to be reported all well.

Our ship was sailing along at about nine knots per hour; the crew were making paunch, mats, sinnet, etc., and standing by to work sails, all the painting being done, and the stores expended, there was nothing much to do.

We lost the trades in 33° north, and then we had two days calm. On the morning of the second day, the sea being calm and smooth, an unusual disturbance arose on the water about a mile distant. A large fish was seen to spring about twelve feet out of the water, and go down head first. Then we saw the huge tail of a sperm whale rise out of the water and thrash the surface. As we drew nearer, we could see that the disturbance was caused by an encounter between a sperm whale, sword fish, and a thrasher. We now saw what looked like the vanes of a windmill revolving in the foam, and a wet black arm rose and fell out of the white seething water, like the blades of a propeller rotating under the counter of a light steamer.

“See that,” shouted the chief mate, who was on the poop, “there’s a fight that you don’t often see, a fight between a whale, a thrasher, and a swordfish.”

We all rushed aft to look over the side. As we got nearer the spectacle grew in magnitude and proved to be one of the most terrible pictures the imagination could conceive, even of the sea, that vast theatre of wonder and terror. There was so much fury of foaming water, the monster whale thrashing the water with his tail, spouting, and doing his best to dive below the surface, but his arch enemy, the swordfish, was there, watching his every movement, probing him with his terrible sword and keeping him on the surface; now and again we caught sight of a large space of the gleaming body of the huge whale, upon which the great arms of the thrasher were beating its blows, as it leaped out of the water and came down on the top of him, cutting great gashes in his side, the blows sounding like the blows from a giant blacksmith’s hammer on an enormous anvil. Attacked as he was above and below, the whale seemed powerless between his two small, yet terrible, foes. The water around grew thick with blood and sperm. Presently, however, by a quick move on the whale’s part, he caught the thrasher a blow with his tail, and killed it. Then he dived, and as far as we could see, the fight was over.

A breeze springing up from the west, we were heading for the Channel. The wind and sea steadily increased, until we were staggering under the pressure of canvas, heading for the Lizard. Three days afterwards we sighted and passed the famous Lizard’s lights, and running up the Channel, before a westerly gale, were soon off the Ness. A fine cutter came alongside of us, and a pilot climbed out of her and over our side. With what interest and admiration did I look at his weather-beaten visage and survey his stout coat and warm woollen comforter, then a tug picked us up, and before long the coast of our dear old home lay fair and beautiful upon our port beam and bow. Two nights after we entered the West India Dock.

Finding the crew would not be paid off until the third day after our arrival, I went home to Liverpool by the Board of Trade arrangements, and they forwarded my wages on to me. Besides my wages, I received a sovereign from the captain, and one from Mr. Weeler. The captain spoke very kindly to me, and said he was pleased both with my work and conduct. He also gave me an ordinary seaman’s discharge, and said he would be pleased to take me another voyage if I wanted to go.

I felt very sorry to leave them all, for a better crew it was never my good fortune to sail with. The captain was all that anyone could wish, and Mr. McLean’s, the chief mate’s, bark was worse than his bite; Mr. Weeler I felt leaving more than all, for he was as good a friend as it was possible to be to me, and to all young sailors that he came in contact with, and many of his words and actions I shall never forget.

Thus ended my first voyage at sea. I thought then, as I think now, with all its ups and downs, its fair weather and foul, there is no life like a sea life, when one is young. Talk about danger, there is far more danger on land than on sea, and there is no place on God’s earth where one sees the wonderful works of Almighty God as on the boundless, restless ocean.

“The twilight is sad and cloudy.

The wind blows wild and free,

And like the wings of the seabirds,

Flash the white caps of the sea.”

CHAPTER VII
The Stone Begins to Roll

When I reached home after leaving the “Bertie” in London, a hearty welcome awaited me, every one exclaiming “my word, how you have grown.” The boys that I had known at school would come up in the evening and listen with eyes and ears wide open as I told them all about the voyage. I, of course, went to see Captain Watson, and spent the best part of one day with him, he was pleased at the way I had got on, and on my leaving he said: “I suppose you are going back in her, George? She is a good ship and has a good captain and officers.”

I hesitated, for somehow I wanted to go further afield, and already I was tired of being on shore.

“I don’t know, sir,” I said at length.

“You’re not tired of the sea already, are you?”

“Oh, no, sir, only I should like to go to some other part of the world.”

“Of course you would,” he answered, “or you would not be a sailor, but don’t leave your ship every time she comes into a home port, make three or four voyages in her, it is not fair to those who have taught you to leave them as soon as you know a bit of the work, don’t be a rolling stone. When a chief mate looks at a man’s discharges and sees each one has a different ship’s name on it, he never thinks much of him because he feels he is only coming to suit his own convenience. No, I say stick to your ship, if she is a good one.”

I made no answer to this and said good-bye, neither did I mention the subject at home, as I wanted to be free in this matter.

I had now been at home a month. The “Bertie” had not come to Liverpool, but had sailed from London, but I had decided not to make another voyage in her. The roving, restless spirit was urging me towards the sea again. Nearly the whole of the time I had been at home the weather had been most trying, rain, sleet, snow or blowing a gale of wind. I was getting tired of the sight of bricks and mortar, and the dirty streets of Liverpool, I missed the regular life on board ship, the sweet pure air of the ocean, the rolling restless ocean, I was tired of the noise and bustle, and wanted to get away from it all. The longing to see other lands, to cross other oceans grew stronger each day, life to me at that time meant only one thing, to see all there was to be seen, all that was worth seeing, to verify all that I had read about India, China, Japan, Africa, Australia and numberless other places.

But Liverpool, I found, was at this time the centre of a great strike of seamen and firemen, and it was very difficult to join a ship, even if you got a chance, without getting your head broken by some of the loafers who infest our seaports, and who neither go to sea themselves nor let others go. A seamen’s strike at that time was rarely, if ever, organized for the benefit of the seamen, but for, and by a lazy disreputable gang of crimps and boarding-house keepers, and they were the only ones who reaped any benefit from it. It was a sight to make one’s blood boil; all around the shipping offices and along the line of docks these scoundrels would parade on the watch to prevent any poor sailor from going on board a ship and many a one, half starved with cold and hunger, was beaten and half killed by these wretches for trying to get on board a ship to get away from it all.

I had decided in my own mind to get a ship at once, and made my way to the Salthouse Dock. There I saw a beautifully shaped barque. She was, to look at, a perfect yacht, her tall tapering masts and long jibboom with a cutwater like a wedge, shewed that she could exhibit a clean pair of heels if driven. She was spotlessly clean, and her sails were white as cotton. I took a fancy to her at once, a nice model ship always appeals to a true seaman. Then I went to look at her bow to see what she was called, and found it was the “Stormy Petrel,” of Liverpool. Thinking how well her name would suit her when she was out in the ocean with all sails set, I saw the mate on deck, and as there were no crimps about, I went up to him, and asked him if he had engaged his crew.

“No, my lad,” he said, “I wish I had. The confounded strike is keeping the men away, and I want to get hold of some good men. Do you want a ship?”

“Yes, sir, where is this one going?”

“To Callao, Peru,” he answered, “come down to-morrow morning at seven a.m., and you can start work at once. As far as I can see there are none but foreigners to be got in the port at present, if the captain has to engage a crew of foreigners, I will let you live with the carpenter, sailmaker, and cook in the half-deck.”

I thanked him, and promised to be on board at seven on the following morning, and made up my mind that if a crimp, or anyone tried to stop me from doing this, well, it would not be well for either of them.

Leaving the dock, I walked towards the Sailor’s Home where the strikers were congregated, to see if I could pick up any news. Here I found the real strikers were mostly foreigners, and many of them could not speak a word of English. There were Scandinavians, Greeks, Turks, Spaniards, Italians, French, and some Manilla men, the Scandinavians predominating. What a parody! The papers described the dispute as a strike of British seamen, the prime movers of the strike were boarding-house keepers and crimps, for reasons best known to themselves.

Several shipmasters, to save time and trouble, had engaged these same crimps to procure them a crew and bring them on board the morning of sailing and they would get a shipping clerk to sign them on on board the vessel. This was done by the captain of the “Stormy Petrel” and on the following day the boarding master brought as truly a cosmopolitan crowd of men on board, with their bags and baggage, as it has ever been my lot to see. A clerk from the shipping office attended with them to sign them on the ship’s articles, several of them could not speak a word of English. Our crew, therefore, consisted of the captain, the two mates and myself, British; carpenter, sailmaker, and cook, Scandinavians; two Frenchmen, two Spaniards, two Italians, one Greek, two negroes, three Turks, and one Manilla man. I signed on as an ordinary seaman, at two pounds a month.

The “Stormy Petrel” was, as the chief mate told me, bound for Callao, Peru. I had a particular desire to go to Peru at that time, having a relative out there whom I was very anxious to see. He had left Liverpool some fifteen years previously as engineer of the s.s. “Bogota,” of the Pacific Navigation Company and had found very profitable employment at Lima, and like many others, had forgotten the claims of those he had left behind.

We sailed from Liverpool on the Saturday morning. It was a miserably cold raw morning, and the sleet was falling fast. As the chief mate said, it was a day to drive a man to drink, or suicide, enough to make one leave the country in disgust, and seek one that had a climate, and not a bundle of samples.

Our crew, being foreigners, were sober, and that was something to be thankful for, although six of them could not speak one word of English, but, unlike Englishmen, they are remarkably quick at picking up a language. Under these conditions, Captain Glasson deemed it prudent to tow down until abreast of Tusker, in the meantime getting everything secure about the deck.

The river was teeming with life—there were barges and wherries, dark-sailed colliers, swarming along under full sail, ships in tow like ourselves, bound either up or down, huge metal ships gliding to their homes in the docks after days of strenuous passage through the great ocean or floating majestically past us to the far west or east.

Everything being now made snug and secure, the men were told to go and have a smoke, and in a little while all hands were called aft on the quarter deck to pick for watches. For the benefit of those who do not know, I may say that it is the custom for the master to take the ship out to her destination and the chief mate to bring her home, and as the second mate keeps the captain’s watch, he always has first pick. The men were ranged in line across the quarter deck, and the second mate, Mr. Ross, called George the Greek first, and the first mate, Mr. Menzies, called a big Frenchman, and so on alternately until the watches were completed. I was again in the starboard watch, the carpenter, cook and steward always slept in, unless in cases of emergency when it was “all hands on deck.”

The two Frenchmen, Old George the Greek and the two negroes turned out to be thorough good seamen, but the others turned out to be duffers—and disagreeable duffers at that.

We then had the usual short speech from the captain. Now Captain Glasson was a bluff, hard, hearty, red-faced man in the prime of life, proud of himself, and of his ship, and always, as I found out afterwards, said the same thing each voyage to the crew after the watches had been picked. Walking the quarter deck, and dropping his words out between puffs of smoke from his pipe:

“Now men, if we get along well and work together we shall have a comfortable time, if not, there will be trouble, and you’ll be in the thick of it. All you’ve got to do is to obey your orders, and do your duty like men. If you don’t you’ll fare hard, I can tell you that beforehand. You do your duty to me and the ship, and you will find things all right, if not, then I’m as hard as nails. That’s all I’ve got to say. Starboard watch go below.”

We had a stiff breeze and a choppy sea crossing the bar, which increased as we drew down towards Point Lynas. When off Lynas the pilot cutter came in sight, and we hauled our courses up, dropped our Jacob’s ladder over the starboard side, one of the men standing on the rail forrard of the main rigging ready to heave a line to the boat. Presently a boat manned by four oarsmen and a coxswain got to windward, the bow man stood up on the fore grating, and when the boat was abreast of our starboard rigging, the man in our main chains whirled the right hand coil round his head and hove it towards the boat with a mighty heave. It fell across her bow, and with almost unerring precision, the bow man caught it and made it fast to the thwart. The boat rose and fell on the choppy sea, and nothing but the skill of her coxswain saved her from being smashed to pieces against the side. At last came a favourable chance, and the old sea-dog of a pilot caught the boat as she hung for a brief moment on the top of a wave opposite the rung of the ladder on which he was standing, and with the agility of a cat, he stepped on to the after-thwart, sitting down in the stern sheets as she swept into the trough of the sea, whilst the steward hove the pilot bag after him. With a wave of his hand and a “God speed you all,” he left us and went on his way, as they cast off our line.

By noon the following day we were off the Tusker Lighthouse, and the wind being from the north-west, we set all square sail and cast off the tug boat. All hands then laid hold of the tow rope and hauled it in on the deck. It was then coiled up over the house to dry. The tug, meanwhile, dropped on the weather quarter, and the usual present of tobacco and brandy was passed on board along with the returns. Then she gave three long blasts on her whistle, and three cheers for the crew, and steamed back towards home.

During the next few days we were kept busy making and furling sails, the weather being very unsettled and squally. Captain Glasson, we found, never took a sail in, if the ship could carry it, so that when the order came to furl sails, it had to be done quickly, if we expected to get them in whole. The drilling with the sails brought out the merits of both officers and men, and shewed up their defects and tempers too.

CHAPTER VIII
Various Kinds of Storms

The first mate, Mr. Menzies, was a man of wide experience and knowledge. He was a great powerful man, a thorough old sea-dog, with a face and fist like a prize-fighter. He was never happy unless paddling about the deck up to his waist in salt water; all his clothes were white with brine. He was always on the alert, and never caught napping, in fact, he slept with his eyes open, which perhaps accounts for it. Well I remember the first time I went to his room to call him, and the fright he gave me. Opening the door gently, I was going to call him, when I saw him lying in his berth with his eyes wide open. Thinking he was awake, I closed the door and went forrard without speaking. At eight bells he did not appear to relieve the second mate, so I went aft again to his room, and after turning his lamp up I found he was lying in the same position looking straight at me with his eyes wide open, but the eyes had a glazed, dull appearance about them. I began to feel quite nervous. Speaking quietly I said:

“It has gone eight bells, sir.”

He never moved, but lay there with his eyes wide open. I gave one jump and was out on deck trembling like a leaf. Rushing up the poop ladder, I said to the second mate:

“Oh, sir, please go to Mr. Menzies, I think he’s dead.”

In a moment he had sprung down the ladder, and was at the mate’s room.

“Mr. Menzies,” he called out loudly, as he opened the door—the mate woke at once.

“Hello, what’s up? What does this mean why are you off the poop, Mr. Ross,” he asked?

The second mate ran up on deck again, and caught me by the scruff of the neck, and was just about to strike me for telling him falsely, as he thought, when the captain stepped out of the companion on deck. Seeing the action of the second mate, he called out:

“Here Mr. Ross, what’s this about, what has the lad done?”

“He told me a lie, sir, when I sent him to call the mate.”

“I did not,” I retorted, “I’m not in the habit of telling lies, I told you I thought the mate was dead.”

Just then Mr. Menzies came on the poop and asked what was the reason the second mate came off the poop at night to call him.

The second mate then told him what I had said.

“Oh is that so!”

Turning to me he said:

“When you come to call me in future, knock at the door loudly, you need not come in. Now go to your berth.”

I did so at once, for I was rather upset, it being my first experience of anything in the shape of a blow since coming to sea.

After I left the poop, the mate explained to the captain and second mate that he often slept with his eyes wide open he had been told, and no doubt it had given the lad a start. For my part, I took care that I never went into his room again to call him.

The second mate, Mr. Ross, was a young officer of athletic build, inexperienced, hot-headed, and stubborn as a mule. Overwhelmed with a sense of the dignity of his position, he thought the only way to impress a sailor was by knocking him down—a bad principle at any time, (perhaps some of his ancestors had been slave-drivers, and the taint clung.) He considered it quite beneath him to let a sailor explain anything to him. The man might have far greater experience, and might possibly be able to teach him far more than he knew, but he would never admit he was wrong, and was continually calling the men duffers and loafers. For instance, one of his Frenchmen had been twelve years boatswain in the French navy, and no duffer could hold that post, neither was he a loafer, for a harder working man I never sailed with. George, the Greek, had for years been acting second mate and boatswain in American ships, and it is well known that a man may be a duffer when he joins an American ship, but they will make a sailor of him before he leaves her. And so it was with most of our crew, they were fairly willing workers, but their knowledge of the Queen’s English was very limited and the second mate had not patience to try and explain to them, although the mate had no trouble with them at all. The second mate’s arbitrary and tyrannical ways were causing a bitter feeling to spread amongst the men, and I heard many a smothered threat from them, growing louder after each outburst on his part, vowing to be even with him some day when he least expected it.

Another thing I found out before we had been long at sea, and that was that the crew were a lot of confirmed gamblers, and every minute they could spare was spent in playing cards for stakes. I have since watched an English crew gamble day by day and night by night for weeks together, and never an angry word from the loser, but not so with these men, they were like perfect demons while playing, their eyes gleamed with the gambling fever, fairly starting out of their heads, one hand meanwhile played with the sheath knife in their belt, and the moment a man began to lose he at once accused the others of cheating, and the end was a fight. They cannot stand a losing game. When they come to blows they generally grip the blade of their knife, leaving about half an inch of the blade protruding, and always cut downwards, or across the face, and arms, making superficial wounds that are rarely mortal or even dangerous, but are horribly disfiguring. When things got to this stage, Old George the Greek and the big Frenchman would step in and quieten them. The officers very seldom had to interfere, which was, perhaps, just as well.

One night, while running through the south-east trade winds, the weather was very unsettled and squally, and a hard-looking squall rose up to windward. Mr. Menzies saw it, and called out to stand by the royal and top-gallant halliards. The watch were in the forecastle playing cards, and did not hear him. The man on the look-out heard the mate, and stamped his feet on the deck, but the watch were too intent on their game, and either did not, or would not hear him. Seeing no one stirring about the deck, and the squall rising fast, the mate sang out to the man at the wheel, “Keep her off, hard up!” and then, rushing along the deck into the forecastle he seized the Spaniards by their throats, and fairly flung them out on the deck. Just at that moment the squall struck the ship with all sail set, and she heeled over until the lee rail was under water. I thought the masts would have gone over the side, but the helm being up the vessel rushed through the water like a frightened deer. But thank God there was no sea running, or it would have been disastrous. All hands now rushed on deck as fast as they could at the angle the ship was lying over. The captain sprang to the wheel, but the helmsman had already got it hard over, and the ship was paying off before the wind. The royal and small stay sails had all blown to ribbons. As the ship swung off before the wind, she came upright again—by this time the squall had passed over. The mate and second mate then set to with their fists and belaying pins, and laid about the four men who should have been on deck, and in a few minutes the deck was like the floor of a slaughter house with blood.

The captain came along the deck afterwards and ordered all hands to stop on deck until the torn sails were replaced. This was done in sullen silence, and the watch on deck, all cut and bruised with the blood running from their heads and faces, were sent aloft to send down the old sails and bend the new ones. By the time this was done it was four a.m.

But our troubles were not yet over—one of the Turks standing by me as the new sails were set, swore he would knife the mate for striking him. I told him to be careful of what he said, or he would get himself into trouble, if he had been on deck, as he should have been when the mate called, the sails would not have been lost, and there would have been no cause for the mate to strike him. No sooner had I said this than he struck me in the mouth and knocked me down, as I sprang up again I seized him by the ankles and jerked his feet from under him. Down he fell, striking his head violently against the hatchcombing. He lay where he fell, senseless.

The other one made a move towards me, knife in hand, but the mate came along the deck just then and caught hold of him. On learning the cause of the row, he put him in irons. The insensible man was carried aft, and it was seen he had a severe scalp wound. The captain dressed it, and the man on slowly coming to his senses was locked in a spare room until later on in the day.

I told the mate that the Turk threatened to knife him. He smiled and told me not to be alarmed as he was not. “I have sailed with those sort of men before” he said, and taking a six chambered revolver from his hip pocket, he showed it to me, remarking at the same time, “I am prepared for them one and all.”

Strange though it may seem, from that day we had no trouble with them. They all seemed to pull together. Old George the Greek, in some way, got complete control over them. He was the most powerful man on board, standing six feet two in his stockings and built in proportion, with a long bristling moustache, and hair as white as snow. He was sixty years of age, the strongest and most active man on board, and withal, in his bearing and manner a courteous gentleman. I often thought what a model he would have made for a picture of a brigand chief.

CHAPTER IX
Christmas at Sea and George the Greek’s Story

After losing the south-east trades we had light winds and fine weather with smooth calm sea until we sighted the Falkland Islands; standing like two silent sentinels of that stormy region of the South Atlantic Ocean, they have been the scene of many a shipwreck. A cold, bleak, inhospitable rock-bound coast, around which almost perpetual gales blow. There are two large islands and several smaller ones with an area of about thirteen thousand square miles, very mountainous, situated in latitude 51° 40′ south, longitude 59° 30′ west. They are right in the track of vessels going to and fro around Cape Horn.

We sighted the islands on Christmas Eve, my first Christmas at sea. It being summer time, we had twenty-two hours daylight, and very little darkness. The sun rose at 3 a.m., and set at 11 p.m. The mountains on the island were covered with pure white dazzling snow, while in the valleys you could see cattle grazing in beautiful green pastures, and the rocks by the water’s edge were literally covered with seals.

Christmas day broke fine and clear, with the most beautiful sunrise human eyes had ever gazed upon. I have been in many parts of the world since then, but never have I beheld a sky like that on Christmas morning off the Falkland Islands. No words could describe it, for it was indescribable. There was just a gentle breeze, the sea rising and falling in gentle undulations, with a soft murmuring sound, whitened by the ivory of crumbling foam, then shaken into sparkle as though a rain of splintered diamonds was falling, each breath bringing with it the smell of the kelp from the rock-bound coast. The sky to the westward was slightly overcast, thinning out towards the meridian—and towards the east small feathery patches of cloud floated about in a silver sea, while down near the horizon it was a clear soft grey. Then the wonderful sight burst upon us, heralding the rising of the sun the most magnificent coloured rays spread over the sky. It would need a painter’s brush, and a poet’s language to describe their beauty. The watch on deck actually called out to the watch below to come and see it, it seemed to me a fitting scene to celebrate the day on which the Saviour of the world was born. Many years have passed since I stood spellbound by that sight, and my Christmas days have been spent in many lands, but it is as fresh in my mind as though it were yesterday, and every Christmas day has brought back the memory of that glorious sunrise off the Falklands.

About eight a.m. the breeze freshened from the eastward, and the “Stormy Petrel” had every stitch of canvas set, and was making about ten knots per hour. A course was set for the Straits of Le Maire, which separate Staten Island from the southern extremity of the South American Continent. We washed the decks before breakfast, and from then the day was as a Sunday. The captain ordered the steward to give us soft tack for breakfast, a luxury you don’t often get at sea, and an eight bell dinner for all hands in honour of the day, with a bottle of rum to each watch.

We heard eight bells strike with more relish than usual, as the captain screwed the sun’s meridian altitude on his sextant, and the second mate glanced across and actually smiled from the weather side of the poop. Then forrard one of the men and I went to the galley for the kids, or food tins. Chaff and good humour were the order of the day at the galley door, and I rather think cook was not sorry when it was all over. Then followed the tramp tramp along the deck with the steaming kids, and at last we had the food all served up and sat down to eat it. There was real fresh pork, none ever tasted so sweet, rice soup and potatoes, followed by plum duff, real genuine plum pudding, with some left over for tea. This was a luxury, and we made the most of it and for once at sea we had a meal which made us satisfied with ourselves and things in general. We cleared away and put things tidy. The day passed away very quietly among the men, and after supper, the weather being fine, they all sat round the fore-hatch and spun yarns, real sailors’ yarns, not stories of goblins and ghosts, but real stern facts out of their own hard lives. Before they started they tossed up who should begin, and the lot fell to old George the Greek, and thus he began his story, which was the best of all.

George the Greek’s Story.

“When I was a boy I lived with my parents at Smyrna. My father was a fisherman, and I often used to go with him in his boat. I was passionately fond of the water and all things connected with it, fond of athletics, and could swim, run, jump or wrestle with any boy in Smyrna, and was utterly fearless. All the fishermen of the port knew me and were very good to me.

“My dear old father and mother were good, God-fearing people. Their dearest and most honoured friend was good Padre Nicola. The dear old Padre, how he loved me and watched over my young life. He taught me, with other lessons, to be a brave loving boy, and when I was old enough he taught me to sing in the little church that his loving flock had built for him, it was just outside Smyrna on the road to Ephesus. Often when he came to our house and sat in the little garden that was so full of flowers and sweet-scented herbs, he would pat me on the head and say he hoped and prayed that I would grow up a good man, and a comfort and help to my dear father and mother.

“Oh, Jesu Christi,” he groaned, and for a few minutes he could not speak, but after a while he controlled himself and proceeded:

“When I was fourteen years old, an old friend of my father’s, Captain Petri, came to Smyrna in his brig the ‘Alexanovitch.’ He was a dear old man, he and my father were boys together in Patras, and they had not met for years. He spent all his spare time at my little home and took a great fancy to me. He soon found out that I was fond of the sea, and asked my father to let me go with him, promising he would watch over me and treat me as his own son, and make a sailor of me too. My father and mother were very loth to part with me, but Captain Petri had no son or daughter of his own, and they knew he would do all he had promised for me.

“So they spoke to the Padre about it. The dear old man said how sorry he, too, would be to lose me from the choir of the little church, but it was a good chance for me. He would pray the good God to bless me, and keep me good and true, and so, to my delight, it was settled that I was to go with Captain Petri in the ‘Alexanovitch.’

“My poor mother was heartbroken to lose her boy, for deep down in her heart she had hoped to see me settle at home, and become the village schoolmaster, but it was not to be.

“The following week was both a busy and a happy one for me, the happiest week of my life. The choir of the church in which I had now sung for several years got up a grand supper and the dear old Padre took the chair. What good wishes were given to me, what earnest prayers for my future. They presented me with a beautiful Douay Bible and Missal with my name on the fly leaf, written by the dear Padre himself. Oh, it was a cursed day for me when I left the place and home I loved so well.

“The brig ‘Alexanovitch’ was 300 tons register and carried a crew of eight all told, the captain, mate, cook, four seamen and one boy.

“The following week saw me on board with my kit, I was to receive 20 drachmas per month. I was delighted, I seemed a rich man all at once, my word but I did.